


Sweet, Sweet Victory

by janvandyne



Category: The Bronze (2015)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Hair-pulling, Oral Sex, The Bronze, lance tucker - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:23:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7559986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janvandyne/pseuds/janvandyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re a could’ve-been Olympic gymnastics champion now training someone else for the US team. He’s the current Women’s Head Coach who wants to take over her training. You two have a competition to decide who gets their way.</p>
<p>also known as</p>
<p>“Fuck You for It”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet, Sweet Victory

“No, Piper, it’s fine,” you say, speaking into your cell phone. “Just be here first thing tomorrow morning and we’ll make up the time… No worries… Ok, bye.”

You’re disappointed that your protégé won’t be able to show up today, but life happens, even for athletes. You hang up your phone and then take a look around the empty gym. It’s not _much_ to look at. There’s balance beams, uneven bars, a vault and vault board, a tramp running alongside one wall, and mirrors covering another. The mats are worn from years of use and the lights overhead were prone to short outages. It is small and shabby, but it’s _enough_.

This is where you got your start, this small gym with Coach P, before your mom decided that you needed more and whisked you away to Los Angeles where you began training with DeFranco.

But that was before… before everything. And now you’re back, and although you work at the gym, you very rarely get time alone anymore. Whenever you’re here, Piper is here, too. Long hours, tough days. Piper’s the one who’s training, but you work beside her, and by the end of your sessions you feel just as exhausted. Maybe more mentally than physically, but rundown all the same.

This morning, you feel good, though. A thorough stretch, an early morning run, and a long shower come together to start your day right. Before even realize what you’re doing, you’re slipping off your shoes and pulling off your socks. You strip out your t-shirt and pants, leaving you in just your sports bra and compression shorts. You step your feet in to the chalk beside the balance beam mat, then wipe your feet with your hands.

If you’re out of practice, it’s not by much. You train beside Piper every day, performing her routine, mirroring her stance to make sure she does it right. You’re confident in your skill and ability, regardless of what the world may think. You know you have talent, and it’s not conceit, it’s honesty. _Consistency of excellence_ , DeFranco would call it, hammering the words into your brain day after day after day.

You take a deep breath, then look down the runway, eyeing the vault board. You go for it. Big run, then round-off on to the board, an Arabian salto after. Your feet hit the beam, you straighten your knees, arms out, then up. Perfect.

This isn’t Piper’s routine, this one is _yours_. You’ve done this for years now, in the quiet hours of the gym that you seldom get, with no one watching. You know this routine like the back of your hand. You could do it backwards. You could do it with your eyes closed.

A little bit of fluff to get your from point a to point b. A tic-toc walkover when you near the end of the beam, then a half illusion turn to spin you around again. More saltos, handsprings, twists, turns, and leaps. Your body moves without you even having to think about it. Double tuck back salto with a twist to dismount, and your feet hit the ground. Knees bent, legs strong. You take a deep breath and lower your arms. _That_ would have earned you the gold for sure.

Someone behind you starts clapping and you jump at the noise. With Piper not there, you were supposed to be the only person in the gym. That performance was only for yourself. Your heart is already racing from doing the routine, and now it feels like it’s going a million miles an hour.

“Look at you, still got it after all these years.”

You turn around and your eyes go wide. _Lance fucking Tucker_. Your former beam coach and… lover? Partner? Fuck buddy? Whoever he was to you back then, you haven’t seen or spoken to him since you walked out on Worlds almost four years ago. And, damn it, he looks good. As much as you hate to admit it, time has been too kind to him. His hair is shorter than it was before, and he’s more bulk than lean, but he has that same cocksure strut going on. You’d know him anywhere from just that walk.

“What the fuck?” you say when you finally get your bearings. You take a few steps, but then stop. You can’t breathe. If you move anymore, you might pass out, so you let him come to you.

And he does. He continues walking towards you, a languid kind of swagger, all the while looking you up from toe to top. When he finally makes it to you he bites his bottom lip – _that fucking mouth_ , _the things he used to do to you with that mouth –_ and gives you one last deliberate up and down.

“Still tight, too,” he says with a half-cocked smirk. “Coulda stuck that landing a little better, though.”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Tucker?” you ask, arms crossed over your chest because suddenly you feel naked under his gaze.

Those wickedly plump lips curl up even more at the corners, a Grinch-like leer, all pouty and pink. He swoops the tip of his tongue out, a slow slide to wet his lips, before he speaks again.

“What?” he asks, eyebrow quirked. “Not happy to see me? Should be the other way around.”

You don’t reply, because technically he’s right. He has his reasons to be angry, but so do you. The silence stretches out taut between you two before he shifts, spreading his legs wide and planting his feet.

“I’m here to check out Pavleck’s girl,” he says, his tone more dismissive of you than before. “Where’s she at? And where’s Pavleck?”

“Piper? She’s not here today,” you tell him. “Neither is Coach P. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

He reaches behind himself and digs in to his back pocket, comes back with a wallet and flips it open to show an ID. “I _was_ the team coordinator,” he says, flipping the wallet closed and putting it back where he got it. “Recently promoted to the USA Women’s Team Head Coach.”

“Oh,” you say in disbelief. “Oh, hell no.”

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” Lance says, shoving his hands in his jacket pocket. “When’s Pavleck gonna be here? I’ve got some business to discuss with her.”

You shrug your shoulders. “If it’s about Piper,” you tell him, “you can discuss it with me. I’m her coach.”

Lance laughs at you, loud and mocking, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “No way,” he says. “Pavleck is a world class gymnastics coach. You’re a – a fucking _pariah_.”

“Nice,” you scoff. “Well, Pavleck _was_ a world class coach. Now she’s a drunk with a crappy gym. And I’m the pariah who does all the work and gets none of the credit. So what did you want to discuss with me?”

His face twists into a cruel sneer and you ready yourself for whatever nasty words are about to come out of his mouth.

“You haven’t changed a bit, huh?” he says, pointing a finger in your face. “Still an ungrateful, disrespectful –“

And there it is. The mood changes and suddenly you’re both on the offensive. Your relationship had always been volatile, full of smoke and spark and _fire_ , but it’s been just ashes for four years and you don’t know whether to fan the flames or douse the whole thing.

“You don’t know the first thing about me!” you say as you slap his hand away.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Yeah, I think I do. I know you fucked over DeFranco, you fucked over your team, your country, and you fucked me over too! We lost being able to even medal all because you –” he makes a lewd gesture with his fist in front of his mouth and his tongue in his cheek “— choked.”

You roll your eyes and ball your fists. “God, you really don’t know anything.”

“Then why don’t tell me!” he yells, but he sounds sincere for once, and your stunned at his tone, taken aback. After a moment’s contemplation, you decide that the least you can do is be straightforward with him after all these years of sidestepping the truth.

“DeFranco was fucking my mom!” you tell him. “The man I trusted more than anyone tore my family apart and I found out about it right before I was supposed to compete. The last thing I wanted to do is prance around on a beam in front of the entire world. DeFranco can go to hell for all I care!”

“And what about me, huh?” Lance says, closing the distance between you two so you were almost chest to chest. “When you walked out on Worlds, you walked out on me, too. Wasn’t I owed some kinda explanation?”

“You have an uncanny talent of making everything about you,” you sneer. “But I don’t owe you anything.”

And with that, you’re done. The last thing you thought you would have to do this morning is relive the worst day of your life with Lance Tucker. You start to turn and walk away, but he grabs your arm and pulls you back to him.

“Hey! I did good by you, didn’t I?” he asks, his voice a low and angry hiss. “I helped mold you into what you were. You had the potential to be one of the greatest national talents the sport had ever seen!”

“Don’t give me that shit,” you say as you push at his chest so that you can pull your arm away. “I’ve heard it enough. Come back tomorrow, if you want to see Piper. 7 a.m. She’ll be here.”

You try to walk away again, but Lance is right there with you. He blocks your path and backs you into the balance beam behind you, placing his hands on either side of it. You’re trapped between his arms, bodies so close that you can feel the anger radiating off of him like heat waves.

“No,” he says, and he’s leaning down so you two are face to face. “Let’s do this now. Here’s what’s gonna happen. Piper’s gonna start training with me and the rest of the team first thing Monday morning. If she wants to be a real contender, she has to start training with a real coach. I’ll let you give her the good news.”

“The hell she is,” you spit back.

He closes the already scant space between you two and now you’re really touching – stomach to hip to thigh – and one of his knees is slotting between your legs, holding you still. You have to lean backward slightly over the beam so that you’re not completely pressed against him, but then he leans forward, not giving you any room at all.

“I’m the head coach,” he says. “What I say goes. And I’ll give you a warning, Little Miss Deepthroat, –“

“I already told you that I didn’t _choke_.”

“—you don’t want to fuck with me. Either Piper trains with me and my girls or else she’s off the team. There’s no other which-way about it.”

“This is bullshit,” you say, and you find the will and strength to push him away. “You can’t do that! Tuck… Lance, come on. She’s amazing. And I’m doing something good here. You can’t take this away from me.”

He stares at you, and that pretentious, cocksure mask is slipping just slightly. Just enough for you to see the _real_ Lance. The one you only used to see outside of gymnastics and the bullshit politics of the competition. He looks down and rubs his jaw, and it’s like he’s pulling that mask back on again.

“Tell you what,” he says, “how about _I fuck you for it_.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll fuck you for it,” he repeats, as if that’s the most rational solution to the problem.

You scoff. The _nerve_ of him. “She’s not a movie pick or the last slice of pizza,” you say. “Piper is a potential Olympic champion. I’m not risking giving her up.”

“What, you scared you’re gonna lose?” he asks, that damn smirk now planted firmly on his face. You don’t know whether it’s there because he thinks you’re going to back down or whether he thinks he’s going to get laid, but you do know you want to smack it off his smug, handsome face.

“That’s a shame,” Lance continues, pitching his voice deep and low. “You were so good at it. That thing you used to do with your tongue – _hmmm_ – got me every time.”

You can feel goosebumps surface on your skin, a dull heat grow between your thighs. Lance knows exactly what buttons to push. A little bit of praise, a little reminder of what could happen. He puts his hands on his hips and stands up straight and tall, letting you admire the long lines of his body, the way that tight, white shirt fits a little too snug.

“You’re a dick,” you say. “Did you know that?”

So, he’s a dick. What else is new? He ignores you and continues his appeal as if he already knows that you’re going to concede. “You know the rules: whoever comes first loses. Whoever lasts the longest gets Piper. Come on, sweetheart. I’ll even let you be on top.”

You roll your eyes so hard you’re surprised you don’t get a headache. “What a gentleman.”

“Is that a yes?”

You don’t say anything right away. And every second the silence stretches out into, Lance’s smirk gets wider and wider until it’s a full-blown smile. Damn him. You both know he can take Piper away from you regardless of whether you want him to or not. He is the head coach, and a good one at that. But you both also know that if you fight against it enough, he’ll eventually give in and let you have your way. He’s giving you an out, though, or an in. A way for you to get what you want and for him to save face while still looking like he put up a struggle.

Or maybe he just wants to fuck you. Either way –

“Fine. I’ll fuck you for it,” you say. “Do you have a condom?”

“Oh, you know I’m always packin’,” Lance says as he swiftly retrieves his wallet and pulls out a condom. It’s wrapped in gold foil, _of fucking course_ , and he smacks it down on the balance beam behind you.

He pulls off his jacket and tosses it to the side, then closes the distance between the two of you again. He places his hands on your cheeks, then slides them up to palm your head and pulls the elastic out of your hair. He throws it away and buries his hands in the now loose tresses, pulls tight and rough, tipping your head back so that you’re looking up at him.

He stares at your mouth, and you give an involuntary swipe across your lips with your tongue. He leans in, just slightly, like he wants to kiss you, but he seems to shake himself before it’s too late. He pulls your hair even tighter and you have to stifle a moan.

He leans down and runs the tip of his nose up your jaw until he reaches your temple, a tenderness you’re not expecting. He gives your lobe a nip with his teeth, then plants that kiss he’s been holding on to in the hollow behind your ear.

“Any excuse to get my cock, right?” he whispers.

You groan and roll your hips against him, feeling his rock hard dick in his jeans against your bare stomach. There’s a reason why he’s so confident, and that’s because he _can_ be. It’s been four long years, but you can still remember everything so clearly – the long nights, the early mornings, the truly Olympic marathon style fucking that you too constantly had day in and day out. The man was a beast, with strength and endurance out of this world, and you are yet to find anyone that could come close to how he made you feel.

But you’re not about to tell him that.

“This was all your idea,” you reply, lips ghosting over the hinge of his jaw. “More like any excuse to get my pussy.”

“You’re a whore,” he growls, pulling back from your neck but keeping a firm grip on your hair. There’s a crooked smirk on his face and no real heat behind his words, his tone more taunting than vicious.

You lick your lips and smile back. “And you’re a scumbag,” you reply.

Lance lets go of your hair and finds the elastic of your bra. He yanks it off and sends it flying somewhere behind him. Before it even reaches the ground, his hands are on your breasts, thumbs running across the soft underside of them. He slides his palms up and grabs your breasts, kneading them with a little more pressure than you would usually like but _damn_ does it feel good. His hands are rough and worn, huge palms, and long, thick fingers. The scratch of his skin against your sensitive nipples have you arching your back for more.

One of his hands drops down to your ass and he gives it a harsh squeeze. You buck your hips forward and he bends down to grab the back of your thigh, picks it up, then places it around his hip. He grinds into you while his mouth finds your free nipple, and you can feel his hard dick rub repeatedly against your clit.

It’s been a while, to say the least, since you’ve been touched by another person. Even longer since you’ve been touched by _Lance_ , and if you don’t get your shit together real soon, you’re going to be coming before you even get started.

Which is why you’re glad when Lance stops and sinks down to his knees, taking your shorts with him. He lifts your leg again and hitches it over his shoulder, then dives into your pussy with no further preamble. His tongue hits your clit and you unintentionally jerk away, your back hitting the beam behind you. He doesn’t miss a beat. He pulls you towards him again, one hand with a hold on your ass, the other grabbing your breast, and latches his mouth back on to you.

Lance runs his tongue over your pussy, from hole to clit in one firm swipe. There’s no teasing in his actions, just his hot, wet tongue lapping against your clit over and over again.

You claw and pull at his shirt, urging him to take it off. He loses contact with your pussy only long enough to lift the shirt over his head, then he’s back. You place one of your hands on his tan, freckled shoulder, kneading the muscle and pressing him even more towards you.

You’re rocking down on his mouth, one arm stretched out on the beam to hold you up, the other sliding up Lance’s neck to bury itself in his perfectly coifed hair. He lets go of your breast and sinks one long, perfect finger into your cunt. You throw you head back and moan, it feel so fucking amazing. He adds another finger and pumps them both in and out of you, all the while keeping a constant pressure on your delicate nub.

When you look down at him, you realize that his hand isn’t under your thigh anymore, but on his own dick. He’s got his belt unbuckled and fly unzipped, pants gathered low on his hips, and it is the hottest fucking thing you have ever seen. He’s jerking his dick while eating you out, his storm blue eyes dark and cloudy as he stares up at you, and once he catches your gaze, he smirks.

How he can still be so fucking smug while he’s on his knees with a mouth full of pussy and his own dick in his hand, you’ll never know, but he is. And now you’re right on the edge of an orgasm.

“I’m not gonna come like this,” you lie. And he has to know you’re lying, too, because the leg draped over his shoulder is shaking, and the one holding you up is vibrating. You’re panting and moaning and squirming and twisting, barely able to stay upright.

Now both of your hands are in his hair, holding his mouth against your clit. Your back is braced against the balance beam and you don’t even care about Piper or the competition anymore, only that you want to come all over that gorgeous, sinful mouth.

Lance must sense your impending climax, because he pulls away, right as you’re reaching that peak, and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. He stands up, dick still out of his pants, and you have to quickly straighten yourself out so you don’t look so completely debauched.

“Nice effort,” you say, trying to keep face, but you’re sure he can see right through you. “But you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

“Maybe I wasn’t trying to make you come,” he says. “Maybe I just like the way you taste.”

He bring his two wet fingers up and traces the outline of your lips. You flick your tongue out to taste his fingertips and then he slides them into your mouth. You lick up the seam between his two fingers, swirl your tongue around the digits. He pushes in further, all the way to the knuckle, and groans when you takes it with no problem.

Lance pulls his fingers out of your mouth quickly, skin scraping against your teeth, and swiftly strips out of his shoes, pants, and underwear until he’s as naked as you are.

You reach for the condom still sitting on the beam, but he gets to it first. He holds it out in front of you and says, ”If you want the gold, you gotta earn it,” before placing a corner of the packet between his teeth.

He cups his hands under your ass and picks you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and weave your hands behind his neck as he runs a path between your breasts with his nose, the rough scrape of the foil between his teeth following behind it. 

He bends down, one hand still under your ass, the other on the ground, and lays you down on the blue mat beneath you.

Lance spreads your legs and kneels inside of your open thighs, grabs you under the knees and pulls you towards him. He takes hold of the condom wrapper and tears it open, spitting the piece of gold foil out on the mat. He tosses the rest aside when he pulls the rubber out, then pinches the tip and begins to roll it down on his dick.

While he’s doing that, you take the time to admire him. He really is gorgeous – bright blue eyes, a perfect sloped nose, kissable lips. His face has a few more lines than you remember, but they actually add to his good looks.

He has broad, strong shoulders, thick arms, a tapered waist. And, _fuck it all_ , that ridiculous tattoo right below his navel: a red, white, and blue striped ribbon leading down to frame his dick. It’s so silly now, so commonplace before, that it struck you just how much time has passed since you were last with him. How much things have changed.

After he puts the condom on, you watch as his eyes travel up the bare expanse of your body until they reach your face. His lips curl up into that crooked smirk you know so well and he gets a tight grasp on your hips before pulling you flush to him.

“Eyes always on the prize, huh?” Lance says after catching you staring at his hard dick.

You just cock an eyebrow because _so what?_ His cock is near flawless and it’s not like he wasn’t just looking at you like you were something to eat, too.

Lances leans down and presses his body against yours. He buries his face in your neck and begins to rub the long line of his dick through your folds and across your clit. You’re so wet, soaked completely, that it’s an effortless glide. You can’t help but arch your back, grind against him to meet his thrusts like he’s already buried inside of you.

He nips at your throat, the sharp sting making you move your hips faster. You bury your hands in his hair to keep his mouth against your neck.

“When’s the last time we did this?” he asks, his words a hot whisper across your skin.

“The night before Worlds,” you reply. He stiffens a little but recovers quickly. He flips you both over so that you’re straddling him and slaps your ass with a hard open palm.

“The fuck you waiting for?” he asks and slaps your ass again.

“Just making sure you’re ready,” you tell him as you rise up on your knees.

You grip his dick in one hand and give him a few firm pumps before lining it up with your entrance. You try to keep your cool as you sink down, but his cock is so long and thick, the stretch so fucking satisfying, that you almost lose yourself in the pleasure of it.

“That’s it,” he says, voice rough and deep. “Take this big dick. All the way down.”

You keep eye contact with him as you reach the base of his dick, the back of your thighs pressing against his hips. He bites his bottom lip and moans, raises his pelvis to bury himself even deeper into your tight, wet cunt.

“Oh I’m totally going to fucking win,” he says, but from his tone, you can tell that he’s not so sure.

You swivel your hips and push your ass back and forth, grinding on him while he’s still completely inside of you. It feels amazing, familiar. Like the best time of your life. Like four years was both yesterday and forever ago.

You can come so fast like this. All you have to do it lean forward and use his pelvis to rub your clit, enjoy the feeling of his dick filling you up so completely. You have the urge to do just that – relax into his body and use his cock to get you off.

But you decide that you’re going to try to last. Lance is looking both satisfied and completely ruined beneath you, pink lips parted and eyes glued to the place where you both are joined, that you know you can make him come before you.

You brace your hands on his chest and rise up on your knees a little, savoring the slow drag of his cock against your tight walls.  You sit back down on him and then rise up once more. You do this again and again and again until you create a nice and steady rhythm.

Lance takes your bouncing breasts in his hands, kneading them and massaging them, pinching your nipples between his fingers then rolling them in his palms. His eyes are now a deep, murky blue and he’s got his lip trapped between his teeth, biting down so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if it bruises. He has a light layer of sweat covering his body and you just want to lean down and rub yourself against him.

This was not a good idea. You barely used to win when you two were fucking like rabbits every day. And after your sex drought, and him showing up looking so fucking good, you know you don’t stand a chance. You’re bouncing harder and harder with each stroke, making it more and more difficult not to give in to the sensation. But you feel so full and the noises he’s making sound so good that you know you’re going to come.

You have to do something, and soon. So you let yourself go. You arch your chest out and throw your head back. You dig your nails into the flesh of his stomach and bounce on his cock with short, fast strokes, just the way he likes it.

“Oh, oh fuck!” you moan, loud and uninhibited. “Tuck! _Coach Tucker!_ ”

And that’s it. He’s done for. He slides one palm across your ribs, then up your back, and hooks his hand over your shoulder while burying his other hand tight in your hair. He pulls you forward into him, skin to skin, and kisses you. It’s rough and sloppy, lots of teeth and a little tongue, but more than anything, it’s too long overdue.

Lance bends his knees and plants his feet on the ground and starts pounding into you. His lips are still against yours, but you’re not kissing anymore, just moaning and panting into each others mouths. It doesn’t take long until he’s grabbing your ass and sinking into your cunt with one hard, final thrust.

He holds you to him for a moment, arms wrapped around your back, relaxing his legs against the mat again. His softening dick is still inside of you, his face buried in your neck, and you realize that you’re planting small kisses into his disheveled hair.

_Fuck._ You have to get up. You leave him with one last kiss and roll off of him to your back. He groans when he slips out of you, but other than that he doesn’t say a word. You allow yourself only a second before standing up and throwing him a smug smirk of your own.

“You never learn,” you say. “I always win.”

You gather up your bra and your shorts, but you just hold on to them, wanting to make your departure quick. You do put your shirt on, though. You find your sweats and put them on, too. You have a bag in the office, and some food for lunch, but you leave it for now. You can come back later and get your stuff, but after a win like that, you _have_ to make a dramatic exit.

“I always _let_ you win,” Lance calls out from his spot on the floor.

You turn around but continue making your way towards the door, taking a few steps backwards, and shrug. He’s not looking at you, though. Showmanship for nothing.

“A victory all the same,” you reply, still watching him.

He puts his hands behind his head and stretches out on the mat, naked as the day he was born, aside from a pair of white, midcalf socks and the condom still on his soft dick. His eyes are closed, but you can see a smile spreading across his face.

“Sweet, sweet, victory,” he muses.

You don’t know whether he’s talking to you or talking to himself, but you do know that you can’t help the smile that finds its way to your own face as you walk out the door.

_Lance fucking Tucker._

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
